


Where Do You Think You're Going?

by Rose_SK



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Aiden is dead, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lambert whump, M/M, Minor Character Death, Polyamory, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/pseuds/Rose_SK
Summary: He took another drink from his moonshine. Half of it dribbled down his chin. Lambert wiped it with the back of his sleeve.Nobody would care if he died, anyway. Vesemir hated him. Eskel and Geralt had each other, childhood friends who had been through every kind of hardship together. Lambert had just tagged along after a while, but he had never really been theirs and they had never been his either. He was just the third wheel who occasionally joined in on the fun, nothing more. It wasn’t like Geralt and Eskel felt anything more for him than lust. They loved him, sure, but not like that. Why would they? Lambert was a mess.OR Lambert is not okay after Aiden's death. Eskel and Geralt are there to pick him up.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 7
Kudos: 149





	Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for whumptober prompt 5: Where Do You Think You're Going? (on the run/failed escape/rescue)

The only thing Lambert liked about Kaer Morhen was the high tower. He used to love spending his evenings there, away from everybody, away from the noise of the new recruits bragging about their most recent achievements and making it impossible for Lambert to hear himself think. After the siege of Kaer Morhen, it was the only place that felt like it had been left relatively untouched by the fanatics. They had not gone that far up. They had not tarnished the tower with their presence. The tower was by no means in perfect condition; years of withstanding the strongest winds, downpours of rain and snowstorms had damaged the walls considerably. However, since nobody used the place on a more permanent basis the tower’s repair was very low on Vesemir’s list of chores. Lambert felt like the tower was the only place he was truly safe, despite the holey walls and the cold drafts filtering through. It was the only place he could escape to when things got too much.

It was only natural that Lambert would hide in that godsforsaken tower after finding out that Aiden was dead.

It was the only place where Lambert could cry without feeling the others’ pity. He had not told anyone about Aiden’s passing. In fact, he was not convinced he had mentioned the Cat witcher much at all other than a few references here and there in passing. Lambert felt guilty. He probably should have mentioned Aiden more. That way, more people would be able to honour his memory. Once again, Lambert had been nothing short of a selfish prick. He had bottled it all up, spent the past fucking months crying himself to sleep every night on the path, or getting into bar fights just to release the anger, the frustration, the _pain_. He had neglected his wounds because somehow it made sense, it felt right that he had to suffer now that Aiden was gone. Lambert should have been there. Aiden had invited him to go to Novigrad and stay there for a couple of days before travelling south together. Lambert had declined because he needed to be alone. He had had his share of companionship and needed time away from everything and everyone to recharge his batteries. He should have gone with Aiden. He could have saved him.

Lambert took a drink from the moonshine he had distilled himself. It tasted like shit, but it numbed the pain.

Eskel and Geralt had noticed his foul mood, but being the understanding bastards that they were, they had given Lambert space. Lambert was not sure whether he should be grateful or feel rejected. He could not help the pang of jealousy at the thought of Eskel and Geralt having each other to hold at night while Lambert was up in the tower, mourning the loss of his best friend. What if they were avoiding him? What if his lovers had decided to give up on him? Lambert would not blame him. He had considered leaving Kaer Morhen in the middle of the night, but then he remembered that the pass would be blocked by the snow. Leaving now would be unwise at best, suicidal at the worst. It would probably be easier for Lambert to jump off the tower.

He took another drink from his moonshine. Half of it dribbled down his chin. Lambert wiped it with the back of his sleeve.

Nobody would care if he died, anyway. Vesemir hated him. Eskel and Geralt had each other, childhood friends who had been through every kind of hardship together. Lambert had just tagged along after a while, but he had never really been _theirs_ and they had never been _his_ either. He was just the third wheel who occasionally joined in on the fun, nothing more. It wasn’t like Geralt and Eskel felt anything more for him than lust. They loved him, sure, but not like _that._ Why would they? Lambert was a mess. He was a whiny brat. The son of a drunk who beat his wife and child every day. Lambert was a nobody, and he would die a nobody. Lambert finished the bottle of moonshine before rising to his feet, staggering as the strong spirit hit him harder than expected. The tower was spinning around him, but Lambert fought against the dizziness and headed to the nearby window which nobody had bothered to fix. He leaned over the edge and glanced down. A steep drop that would kill Lambert instantly. All he had to do was jump.

“Lambert, what the fuck are you doing?”

A voice. Eskel’s? Perhaps Geralt’s. It was hard to think when his head was thumping so fucking damn loudly. Lambert closed his eyes when he felt his stomach lurch. He felt like he might be sick, but he was too damn proud to let anyone see him in such a vulnerable state.

“F-fuck off-ff.”

“Lambert, where the fuck do you think you’re going? Step away from the window!”

Definitely Geralt. Nobody bossed people about quite like Geralt. Besides, Eskel would never let his voice betray his panic. Eskel was always so level-headed, so calm under pressure. Lambert envied that about him. He felt Geralt’s hands grip him by the arms and roughly pull him to a firm body, but Lambert squirmed away from the other witcher. A frustrated sound pushed past his lips as he tried to wiggle out of Geralt’s hold but all Lambert achieved was that he tripped over his own feet and landed flat on his face.

The whole room was spinning faster now. _Fuck_ , he really didn’t want to be sick. 

“Melitele’s tits, Lambert, you smell like an entire brewery!” Geralt admonished him as he went to help Lambert up. This time, the younger witcher did not fight him.

“Are… aren’t you the kn-knight in f-f-fuckin’ shinin’ armour,” Lambert cursed when Geralt unceremoniously hauled him to his feet. “Sir Geralt of Fucking Rivia. Bet you _hic_ have the ladies swoo-ooning. Don’t let Esk-es- fucking ‘skel know you’re so popular. He’s surp-suprisingly possessive when he wants to-“

Lambert could not finish his sentence as the nauseating feeling became too overwhelming and he was forced to bend over as he threw up the entire bottle of moonshine he had imbibed all over the floor. Were it not for Geralt holding him Lambert would be kneeling in a puddle of bile and vomit. Geralt, ever the patient prick, whispered comforting nothings in Lambert’s ear. Lambert felt like punching him; he did not deserve Geralt’s patience, nor Eskel’s kindness, nor their love.

“I gotcha, Lamb. I gotcha.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. Only Eskel calls me that,” managed weakly after he was done throwing up. His head was in fucking agony, but that was what he got for being such a dumb asshole. He should just have jumped when he had the fucking chance.

“Glad to have you back, prick.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, pretty boy.”

Geralt snorted, but he refused to let go of Lambert. The younger witcher eventually resigned himself to Geralt’s affections. Lambert’s tears were streaming freely down his cheeks as his broken sobs echoed in the empty tower. He felt pathetic, but at the same time he could not bring himself to stop. Geralt held him while he cried. Lambert did not know how long that was, but at some point they both heard the familiar sound of heavy footsteps making their way up the staircase. Eskel. Lambert whined needily, hating himself for wanting to feel Eskel’s arms around him so badly.

It wasn’t his fucking fault that Eskel always gave the best hugs.

“What the fuck happened here?” Eskel asked, his tone soft despite the curse that tumbled past his lips. Geralt quickly filled the other witcher in while rubbing Lambert’s back soothingly, but never letting go of him. Lambert was too ashamed to look up at Eskel, instead turning around in Geralt’s embrace and hiding his tear-streaked face in the older witcher’s neck. Geralt shooshed him like he was some kind of spooked animal, but it made Lambert feel warm in the best way possible.

It made him feel loved and safe. He wished the moment would never end.

“Lambert?” Eskel called out to him, large warm hands settling on Lambert’s hips, “talk to us. What happened on the Path? You can tell us. We won’t judge you.”

Lambert bit back a choked sob at the memory of Aiden. What would his brothers think of him after they knew the whole story? Would they agree that Lambert was too blame? It was a risk he was willing to take because at the minute he felt so fucking raw, so fucking vulnerable. Like a child, his mind supplied unhelpfully. A stupid, bratty, whiny child. Eskel’s hands squeezed his hips gently, bringing Lambert back to the present.

“Lamb, talk to me.”

Talk to Eskel. He could do that.

“Aiden’s dead.”

There was a pregnant pause during which both Geralt and Eskel pressed closer to Lambert, and Lambert’s sobs doubled in intensity. It felt weird saying it out loud. _Aiden’s dead_. There was no denying it anymore. _Aiden’s dead_. Really dead. He was never coming back. And it was all Lambert’s fucking fault. If only he had agreed to follow the Cat to Novigrad. He could have saved him. Aiden would still be alive.

Apparently, Lambert had said all these things out loud, because suddenly he felt Eskel press gentle kisses to his neck and shoulders through the soft fabric of Lambert’s cotton shirt. Geralt, meanwhile, was gently carding his fingers through Lambert’s hair. It had grown while on the Path and he had not had the strength to cut them or shave properly since coming back for winter. What was the point anyway? He probably would have sliced his throat with the shaving knife instead.

“Don’t say that,” Eskel pleaded, something he never did, and Lambert realised that he had also spoke that last thought out loud and instantly felt bad, “don’t ever say that, Lambert. I can’t bear the thought of not having you by our side.”

“We’re here for you, you prick. Why didn’t you come to us?” Geralt asked softly, never ceasing his soothing ministrations.

“It’s just… I…” Lambert inhaled shakily as he tried to get his sobs under control, “I don’t want to be even more of a burden to you. You and Eskel, you’re… well, it’s always been the two of you, hasn’t it? And I’m just fucking tagging along, aren’t I? I don’t… I’m not as important. You don’t have to put up with this.”

_You don’t have to put up with me._

“You fucking idiot,” Eskel gently chastised him, “you moronic prick. Do you have no idea how much you mean to us?”

“You’re not a guest in our relationship, Lambert, you’re one of the pillars. If any of us leaves then the whole thing will crumble and burn. You’re just as important to me as Eskel is. I travel the fucking Continent each year with a knot in my stomach at the thought of anything happening to either of you.” Geralt gently locked their lips in a chaste kiss, an action which had Lambert keening.

“Lamb?” The youngest witcher finally moved away from Geralt only to be pulled close to Eskel’s strong body and promptly borrowing himself in the warm embrace. “Lamb, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“How close were you and Aiden?” Lambert tensed at the question and his reaction did not go unnoticed by either of his lovers. Lambert braced himself for the inevitable rejection that never came. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

Lambert did not trust his voice, so he merely nodded.

“I’m sorry, Lamb,” Geralt offered sympathetically.

“I told you to not fucking call me Lamb!” Lambert snapped, glaring at Geralt from the safety of Eskel’s embrace. He failed to see the knowing looks the older witchers shared between themselves. Eskel eventually decided to move, but Lambert’s whimper made the witcher stop in his tracks.

“Don’t leave me. Please. Not you, too.”

“We’re not leaving, Lamb. I promise,” Eskel reassured him as he interlaced their fingers together. Geralt did the same with Lambert’s other hand, pressing his body as close to the younger witcher’s side as he was physically able. “See, we’re both here. C’mon, you desperately need a bath. Off to the hot springs you go!”

That night, they bathed him, shaved him, and under any other circumstances Lambert would have felt shame at being treated like an incapable child, but it was like his inner fire had been quelled leaving nothing but numbness and emptiness behind. So he tolerated his lovers’ overbearing attention, unable to fight them even if he wanted to. Admittedly Lambert felt more like himself with his hair sheared short and his beard trimmed properly. Guilt took over his senses once again when he realised how much he had neglected his appearance since Aiden’s death. The Cat would have hated that. Was Aiden disappointed that Lambert had let himself go? Lambert preferred not to linger on that thought for too long.

“Stop tormenting yourself, Lamb,” Eskel gently coaxed him back to the present, to the firm yet gentle hands lathering his body with soap and to the lips teasing his neck, “relax. Let us take care of you, little wolf.”

After their soak, Geralt and Eskel dragged Lambert back to Geralt’s bedroom and the youngest witcher all but collapsed onto the inviting bed. He had denied himself many comforts for far too long, but his lovers’ presence was comforting and he knew that nothing could get to him so long as Geralt and Eskel were there watching over him. Lambert slid under the covers and was soon joined by Geralt, who silently cuddled up to him and wrapped his strong arms around Lambert’s body to pull him flush against a firm chest. Lambert nuzzled Geralt’s neck again, taking in the comforting scent. Geralt smelled of birchwood, probably because he had been chopping firewood all morning for Vesemir. Lambert could not get enough of it. Soon after, the bed dipped under Eskel’s weight as the oldest of the three curled himself around Lambert’s back and draped an arm around both his lovers, his lips pressing a firm kiss to Lambert’s temple.

“Don’t ever think of jumping out that window again, do you hear me?” Geralt rasped, his voice knotted with emotion and his tone stern and unrelenting. Lambert flinched but nodded in agreement. “We would be lost without you, Lambert. I… I love you. You can’t leave us.”

“ _We_ love you,” Eskel corrected, his tone much softer, “we need you just as much as you need us right now.”

“You two old saps,” Lambert joked although he felt his heart grow three times bigger at the heartfelt declarations. He needed his lovers, too. He loved them fiercely, unconditionally. Lambert was no good with words, but Eskel and Geralt understood. They _knew_. Of course they did.

“Do you want to tell us about Aiden?” Eskel asked in a slurred voice heavy with sleep. Lambert bit the inside of his cheek as he fought the fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

“Will it bring him back?” the youngest witcher asked, sarcasm lacing his tone to hide how painful Aiden’s memory was. He felt Eskel shrug lazily against him.

“For us. For a little while. Stories are a different kind of magic.”

Lambert was silent for a while after that. He knew neither Eskel nor Geralt would press him if he did not want to talk about Aiden and his lovers would be the last people to judge him for not knowing _how_ to open up to them. Yet, Lambert felt the impossible need to tell them all about Aiden; his soft golden brown curls, his feral smile, the manic glint in his eyes, but also all his redeeming qualities. Loyalty, honour, how guilty Aiden felt for all the pain and suffering he had caused innocent people over the years and how he was trying to be a better man for it. Aiden was not perfect, far from it, but who really was? What made Aiden the best man Lambert had ever met was that he owned up to his faults and his past mistakes and that he _wanted_ to change. Aiden wanted to become a better witcher, a better person.

“He sounds like a stand-up guy,” Geralt muttered under his breath, “for a Cat, at least.”

“He made you happy, didn’t he little wolf?” It was more a statement on Eskel’s part rather than a question, so Lambert merely nodded and did not feel the need to elaborate. Eskel hummed pensively against his hair. “That’s all that matters to me.”

“You would’ve loved him. And he would’ve loved you, too. He always talked about coming to Kaer Morhen for winter. Now he…”

“Hush, little wolf. That’s enough reminiscing for one night. Go to sleep. We’ll be here when you wake, I promise.”

Lambert nodded sleepily, a loud yawn breaking the comfortable silence between them. Safe and comforted in his lovers’ embrace, Lambert fell into an easy sleep. He was not going anywhere anytime soon.

END. 


End file.
